


Lost Little Gem

by WishingRoses



Series: Abduction AU [1]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Homeless Steven Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Season/Series 01, Slow Burn, look out he's got a knife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23882773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishingRoses/pseuds/WishingRoses
Summary: When he was just a baby, Steven Quartz Universe was taken from his family across the country, and though they tried and tried to find him, they never could. Years later, a jaded little boy with nothing but the clothes on his back and a gem on his belly enters the town of Beach City, and his arrival, unbeknownst to him, changes everything.Will Steven realize that this is where he belongs? Or will past experiences keep him from finally finding his true family?One thing is for sure though, and it’s that no one in this town, human or not, is ready to tackle the demons this lost little hybrid has brought along with him.
Relationships: Connie Maheswaran/Steven Universe, Greg Universe & Steven Universe, Rose Quartz/Greg Universe, Ruby/Sapphire (Steven Universe), Steven Universe & Everyone
Series: Abduction AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721230
Comments: 21
Kudos: 84





	Lost Little Gem

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Wish here! Welcome to my new, dream-given AU I randomly created one night. I have no clue what sparked this idea, but it was too good and too intriguing to be left alone. So, here we are. 
> 
> I already have quite a lot in store for this AU, as I've already made it into a series. I even have art I'll (hopefully) post in some of the chapters, so you all can look forward to that. As soon as I figure out /how/ to post art in here that is...
> 
> With all that said, happy reading!

His breaths are coming out fast and short by the time he reaches the railway. It takes more time than he’d like to get himself to calm down, and by that time, he’s sure he’s missed it. When he finally looks up however, struggling to blink the dark spots from his eyes, he feels that faintest bit of relief at seeing his target was still there. 

Tumbling down the railroad, at a speed slower than usual but believable when he sees the load it’s carrying, is the train he’s going to catch his next ride on. 

He’s glad this train is going relatively slow, since he doubts very much he’d be able to catch up to anything faster than this. Already he can feel himself thin out, and he hasn’t even moved from his spot in the bushes. 

But, he’s fine. He’s good. As soon as he gets himself onto that train he’ll be able to relax and recover and won’t have to worry about anything else other than where the vessel might be taking him. 

As soon as he can move again, and he’s sure he won’t stumble or fall. This is the most winded he’s felt since he ran across those buildings in Brooks a month ago. 

And, he needs to hurry. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the approaching caboose, meaning he doesn’t have much time before he actually misses this train for real. So he stands then, swaying a bit, preparing himself to run once again. His legs shake and he’s all but lost the feeling in his arm, but he can do this. 

The train barrels past as he charges out from his spot, shaking the earth and making him struggle to find placement on the ground. But it’s fine. He’s got this. 

He’s done this many times. 

His heart rate leaps, and a sudden energy rushes into his veins. Within seconds he’s mere feet away from the speeding train. 

Just like all those other times. 

Once he’s close enough to the train, he tries as hard as he can to spot a good entrance point. All the cars he can see so far besides the caboose are carrying coal or oil, so he won’t be able to jump on those ones. His eyes flick from car to car, and he feels panic growing stronger and stronger as he finds not one acceptable place to leap onto. 

He’s just about to give up and hop onto the ladder of the caboose when he spots it. 

An empty car. With it’s doors wide open.

It’s just ahead of the four oil cars two cars down from where he’s at, and he’s only able to see it because the train bent right then at just the right angle. 

It’s almost a full yard away. If he doesn’t make it he’ll be too exhausted to hop onto the caboose. 

But if he  _ does _ choose the caboose, he’ll have no place to hide or rest. It’s too small, too open. If he falls asleep and the train stops, he’ll get caught. 

(If he falls asleep in the empty car and the train stops, he might also get caught) 

The train straightens out again, blocking the empty car from view once more. He looks back at the caboose, eyeing it’s smaller size and open top. No shelter of any kind. Then he looks forward towards the empty car, imagining it’s space and safer walls. 

He takes a breath. Clutches his stomach. Prays he’s not wrong and that he doesn’t fail. 

He runs forward. 

Gathering every last bit of strength he has left, he speeds towards the empty car, willing his legs to move even though by now they feel like lead. He reaches the car not long after that, and he spares no hesitation before making one final sprint, jumping up, and reaching for it. 

His hand comes in contact with the edge of the car, and quickly, hurriedly, he hauls himself up. 

His entire body feels like it’s being weighed down by bricks, overcome with exhaustion from that final push. But somehow, some way, he musters up the energy to climb aboard. 

He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. 

Then the train hits a bump and he’s sent tumbling onto his side. 

At least he’s still on board. 

Flipping himself over, crawling as far away from the entrance as possible, ignoring the dull ache in his arm or the trail of red he’s leaving on the floor, he collapses on the bed of the car, too drained to care that he’s still not in the most comfortable position. 

And so, on the bed of the last empty car of Northbound train #23, a little boy in a ratty hoodie, torn jeans and wild, unkempt curly hair takes a moment to just  _ breathe _ , completely and utterly spent from his endeavor. 

And Steven finally lets himself sleep. 

_________________________

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to see the darkened sky and flashes of lightning from the open doors of his train car. 

He gasps just as the following  _ boom _ of thunder hits his ears, and he jumps up into a sitting position, scrabbling backwards from the entrance as fast and far as he can get. But almost instantly, a stab of pain struck his arm, making him hiss in agony. 

His back hit the wall of the train car just as he became aware of, from what he can see in between flashes of bright lightning, the mass of red on his sleeve. 

_ Oh. _

He looks down. 

It’s all over his front. And there’s a trail of it leading from where he lay previously.

_ Well, I’m an idiot,  _ he thinks to himself, staring at the puddle of blood and clenching tightly at his arm, which is sticky with it. It still sort of seems to be leaking it.

_ Can’t pass out when I’m bleeding to death. I know the rules.  _

Thunder booms overhead as if to mock him of his stupidity.  _ Yeah, yeah, I  _ know _.  _

Quickly, (or as fast as he can given that he’s definitely weakened) he pulls up his sleeve to finally inspect his wound. It’s a long, deep cut, oozing red and tinted pink at the sides, stretching all the way up from his wrist to just below his elbow. 

It’s a knife wound. Fitting, for him. 

_ Okay, it’s bad.  _ His working hand is shaking something terrible.  _ So hopefully I still have what I need.  _

He hadn’t been thinking awhile back, when he got the wound. He remembers he stuffed  _ something  _ of his into his pockets as he turned tail and ran. Maybe he’ll be lucky and he’ll have remembered to take  _ both  _ his medical supply  _ and _ the food he’d stolen. 

(He’d surely be disappointed if that spree had been all for naught-)

But when he reaches into his pockets, he finds only his stolen knife, and the small roll of bandages he’d left at the top of his treasure pile, not any antiseptic, or his needle and thread. 

Not even the bag of chips he’d apparently wasted his time and blood for. 

_ Oh, well, it’s still better than nothing. And now I finally have an actual weapon to defend myself with.  _

Unraveling the meager supply of bandages, he ties it as best he can over his wound. In this time, he became aware of the daunting numbness he feels throughout his right arm, as he can’t even make his fingers twitch to help him tie the bandage. 

(It’s a problem for later, he’d deal with it later, for now be thankful he’s even treating it-)

He’s not left-handed, so the job is poorly done, but at least it’s something. Even if red still soaks into the stark white of the bandage almost instantly, he feels the tiniest bit of relief at having had  _ something  _ done about it. 

(He’s not about to die because of a stupid bag of chips)

He almost let himself relax again, now that the job was over, now that he was somewhat ( _ somewhat _ ) taken care of. But the loud  _ crack  _ of thunder from the storm outside made sure his gears were still spinning full speed. 

He’d always hated storms.

_ I should probably shut those then.  _ He eyes the rattling doors of his train car. He’d meant to shut them the second he got on the train, but with how exhausted he’d been after he’d gotten on, it had completely slipped his mind. Now the rain and the wind beat down onto his car, creating puddles and making it shake even more than the rails it traveled on. 

(He guesses then, that it’s a good thing he didn’t choose the caboose this time)

Carefully, to avoid aggravating his wound, he moves from his spot near the wall to get close to the doors. They were the sliding kind, and luckily it didn’t take much to get them to close. There was a latch that had to be placed between both doors to lock them as well, and he was pleased to discover he didn’t need two hands to do it. 

By the time he was done, he was drenched in rain and shivering from the cold, but at least the doors were now closed. Exhausted even from that ordeal, he stumbled his way back to his spot by the wall, slumping down to the floor as soon as he made it there. 

Breathing in, listening to the sounds of the storm and the moving train, he closed his eyes and tried to relax again. 

He found it was harder than last time. His thoughts were traveling faster than the train he rode in. 

He was tired, in pain, and had no idea where this train was taking him, but he supposes that’s what he gets for living like a vagabond. This is just a normal Tuesday for him. 

But  _ man,  _ did he mess up back there. Sure, he had no idea that that somewhat-run-down gas station store was owned by a couple of gang members, but hey! At least he made it out alive. 

(But without his chips. He really was looking forward to those.) 

Looking back on it, he was surprised he hadn’t been hurt worse. When he entered the store, he’d already been tired and weak. He wasn’t expecting a fight, and he definitely wasn’t expecting the two employees that worked there to suddenly jump him on his way out, much less for one of them to pull out a freaking  _ knife _ . 

(It surely wasn’t his best moment. He already hates stealing as it is, and now this time it was for nothing.)

But, on the bright side, he’d managed to get away with his arm thankfully intact, and without even using  _ it _ , so, he guesses this spree wasn’t  _ that much  _ of a failure. He even managed to steal that guy’s knife. 

(But he  _ really _ needed that food) 

He heaves out a quiet sigh. There’s nothing else he can do now but wait for this train to get to its destination, then hopefully he’ll be able to get some sort of food at the next place he stops at. 

(Which is hopefully soon. If he remembers correctly he hasn’t eaten in about three days.) 

So, right now, the only thing he  _ can  _ do is catch up on some much needed sleep. And try to ignore the storm outside and how hollow his stomach feels, and the still-throbbing wound on his arm. 

It’s difficult, but eventually his world, and his worries, manage to slip away.

* * *

_ … _

_ He’s five, and he’s happily doodling in the art book he’d gotten for his birthday two days ago. It’s a colorful piece, one he’s using all the crayons in his collection for, but he can’t really make it out because for some reason the drawing is all blurry.  _

_ Miss Ivy sits beside him, knitting a scarf and humming a soft little tune, as she keeps an eye on him and all the other children under her watch. Steven felt as if he knew the song she was humming, but he doesn’t remember where he’s heard it from.  _

_ There’s a knock on the door. Miss Ivy asks one of the older kids to see who it is. Steven doesn’t turn his head to see whoever was at the door, too into whatever he was drawing.  _

_ But then the kid who opened the door screamed something.  _

_ Miss Ivy stopped humming and dropped her knitting needles. The other kids stopped what they were doing. Steven turned his head sharply towards the door, heart leaping at the sudden noise.  _

_ Standing there, at the doorway, were three figures cast entirely in shadow.  _

_ Miss Ivy was up and confronting the figures within seconds, and the older children were hustling him and the younger ones away from the door. Steven couldn’t make out what Miss Ivy was saying to the three intruders, but it sounded like she wanted them to leave.  _

_ But the three figures didn’t listen to what Miss Ivy was telling them, pushing their way through the door despite her yelling, and entering the room like they owned the place.  _

_ They didn’t say a word, just walking further into the room, and as Steven shook where he stood in the hold of the other children, the world around him blurred like the drawing he made.  _

_ And suddenly he wasn’t in his old orphanage anymore. Suddenly Miss Ivy and the other children were gone. Suddenly he was nine and standing in an alleyway, looking up at the three shadowy figures.  _

_ The tallest of the three reached out their hand. Steven took a step back.  _

_ “Come with us,” They spoke to him, voice a mix of people he's heard before.  _

_ “You need us,” The second figure said, just as abnormal-sounding as their companion. _

_ “You belong with us,” The third one said to him, reaching out their hand and actually touching his face. _

_ Their hand felt cold and threatening on his skin. _

_ Steven turned around and ran.  _

_ “Stop running,” One of the figures said as he ran, sounding just as close despite him running away from them. He doesn’t hear their footsteps at all.  _

_ “Stop running,” They said again. Steven didn’t dare turn around.  _

_ He ran and he ran as fast he could go, twisting through the alleyway. As he ran he saw glimpses of people walking, and when he looked at them he saw out of the corner of his eye they seemed to be nodding.  _

_ He ran all the way to a deeper part of the beat-up town. All the way into a muddied and disgusting alley. All the way to the end of it.  _

_ And oh no, he’s in a dead end. He’s caught now. He can feel the glares of the shadowy figures on his back and knows they’ve caught up to him, they’re going to take him, he’s going to be taken- _

  
  


_ There’s no escape.  _

  
  


_ “Stop running-” _

_ … _

Steven wakes up with a scream. 

Heart in his throat, breathing too heavily, arm throbbing in agony.

He’s shaking where he lay curled up on the floor. 

It takes too long to get his breathing to slow, for his heart rate to calm. 

(He hasn’t had a dream like that in  _ months _ -)

As he calms down, slowly and loudly, he becomes aware of the lack of noise from outside. 

And the lack of movement from the train he lay in. 

_ That  _ gets him going again, making him spring to his feet (faltering, he’s dizzy, dizzy and weak and shaky still) and peer into the small crevices of the wooden train walls. He sees glimpses of gravel and big buildings and train tracks, and knows the train is at its destination. 

Which means, he needs to  _ move _ . Lest he gets caught again and  _ oh boy, wasn’t that fun the  _ last time?

Already he’s checking to see if anyone heard him waking up from - whatever  _ that  _ was - if anyone heard him scream when he did. 

He doesn’t hear anyone yet, so he guesses he’s safe. 

For now. 

But oh no, he needs to  _ move _ , because if he doesn’t then he  _ will  _ get caught, and he can’t have that, not  _ again not again- _

He needs to move, and stop  _ panicking _ . He takes his roll of bandages (the small bit he’s got left of it) stuffs it in his pocket, heading towards the doors. 

(There’s blood still left on the floorboards, but if he leaves quickly he won’t have to worry about it. It’s not like anyone can trace it anyway.)

Just as a precaution, he listens before opening the doors of the car again. No one seemed to be close by. Carefully, slowly, quietly, he opens them just a bit, peering out from behind them. 

No one was nearby yet. 

(But it wouldn’t take long.) 

He opens the doors just enough to squeeze through them, and hops off the train with a heavy  _ thud _ . He stumbles, pain flaring again in his arm, but he doesn’t stop. Taking off in a slow jog, the fastest he can go given that he’s still  _ definitely  _ weak, he runs away from the train that took him here. 

It seems to be some sort of train-yard. There’s tracks scattered all over the ground, and he’s careful not to fall into any. The closest building he’s to is what looks like a large shed. 

He stops jogging after a couple minutes, too exhausted to continue much further. He needs a spot to rest for a sec. He looks around for a place to duck under while he catches his breath.

There’s a truck parked on a road beside the shed he saw, right by where he’s ended up. The back of it is covered with a tarp but not closed all the way, allowing him to see a bit of the items tucked under it.

As he gets closer to the truck though, a man walks out of the shed, carrying a box in his arms. Quickly, Steven hides beside the truck, careful not to be seen by the man. 

He can hear him talking on some sort of radio, his voice being picked up by the wind. 

“Yeah, I’ll have this delivered ASAP,” The man spoke into his radio. “It’ll take ‘bout a couple hours or so. Beach City’s about 80 miles away from where i’m at right now.” 

As he spoke into his radio, the man carrying the box walked closer and closer to the truck Steven had hidden behind. Heart beating fast in his chest, Steven searched around for a place to run, but found the area too clear to duck out into. If he moved now, the man might see him. 

The man opened the backseat door of the truck, placed the box inside, then opened the front seat door, getting in and starting the truck. Panicking now, Steven’s mind raced for options of where to flee. 

Where to hide…

  
  


Steven looks up at the tarp just as the man shut the truck door. 

(Well, it’s not like he has any better options…)

____________________________

The bed of the pickup truck Steven managed to hop his way onto was roomier than he’d imagined. 

Sure, it had a couple piles of wood stacked in it, along with a rather large looking toolbox, but it was spacious enough that he could sit criss-crossed and be somewhat comfortable doing so. 

The only real problem he had was the bumping of the truck as it sped down the highway, but after awhile, he was able to get used to it. 

(Though he sure does have a couple new bruises.) 

He even had a nice view of the sky, if he looked underneath the opening of the tarp every now and then. He couldn’t keep his head sticking out of it lest someone on the road - especially the police - were to see him, but it was enough that he was able to enjoy it some. 

He’d been in the truck for about an hour or so, just staring up at the night sky and picking out all the constellations he could see. It was calming, in a way. Looking at the stars had always been somewhat calming to him. 

While he was riding along, he took a peak at the wound on his arm, intending to re-bandage it. It had thankfully stopped bleeding by this time, even clotting up some, but it still looked nasty, and the pink tints on the edges had grown in size. 

A sure sign of a growing infection. 

(That’s what he gets for not taking his antiseptic with him when he ran)

He’d re-bandaged it anyway despite his growing concern about it, and had relaxed against the hard metal of the toolbox behind him. 

(Well, ‘relaxed’ wasn’t the best word, but at least he was resting again now) 

Another thing Steven had been doing since he’d hopped on the truck was thinking about the driver’s destination. He’d said something about a beach city, which sounded rather interesting to Steven. He’d never seen a beach before, only in pictures. A beach town sounded like a nice home for a couple days. 

(It sounded like a nice actual home too)

After which, he had no idea where life would take him next. 

Only that he couldn’t stay in this ‘beach city’ for long. 

  
  


(Oh, how wrong he was.)

_ TBC _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more! Wish out!!


End file.
